


battle scars

by sassastrophe (regulardudetier)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Club fights, Everyone but Luke is now 18+, Gen, Mentions of Harry - Freeform, Who am I, lol, what is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regulardudetier/pseuds/sassastrophe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very few things Michael is certain of: his ability to drink someone under the table and manage to stay somewhat sober, his ability to walk in a straight line after drinking like an Irishman (he was there, he knows how it works), and his ability to get into constant bar fights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	battle scars

**Author's Note:**

> tonight some wonderful photos of michael surfaced that looked like he had a bloodied arm and a black eye which we later learned was actually red sharpie and idk about the black eye but
> 
> things happened
> 
> as usual don't share with the people mentioned in it not that there's anything graphic but you know how it is yada yada thanks for reading
> 
> mature for language

Very few things Michael is certain of: his ability to drink someone under the table and manage to stay somewhat sober, his ability to walk in a straight line after drinking like an Irishman (he was there, he knows how it works), and his ability to get into constant bar fights. He'll find a fit girl standing at the bar, order her a cocktail or something, use the tricks Harry taught him to pull. It's a simple game that he really enjoys playing because he will most often find someone to take home (or to the bathroom stall). He thinks the colored hair helps a little, always toasts to Lou on that. So Michael will sit with her, order her drink after drink (they're on a tour stop so it's not like he's really paying the tab, security will pick it up), listen to her talk for about an hour or so until he's pleasantly trashed. 

That's when it gets somewhat complicated. He'll tip off the rest of the bill, use his charming accent to ask her about sharing a cab, and most of the time they'll say yes. Most of the time he'll laugh his way past Ashton and Calum and grab his jacket from the back of his chair, hand in hand with a gorgeous brunette, helping her towards the door where one of the hired rent-a-cops is keeping watch for rabid fans. Most of the time they're a pleasant shag; he's been lucky enough to pick out the good kissers from the bunch. He'll wake up in the morning with a post-it and a brand new phone number typed into his phone that he never really intends on calling and he'll go on with the day, play a show, etcetera. 

Tonight he's sort of gone and fucked himself over in a very terrible way. The girl (Ellie, he learns) is somewhat shy when he leans in to her ear, brushes his lips against her skin and whispers a few words. Very smooth. She coughs and pulls out her phone and Michael is kind of confused because, well, she didn't answer him. At all. Ashton and Calum are nowhere to be seen (lost in the throng of people on the dance floor probably both with a bird on each shoulder) and he's all alone at the bar and for some reason it all starts to feel very wrong. 

He sees her eyes dart beside him and it's too late that he's turning into a fist, snapping him out of the chair and down to the floor. There's too much noise for anyone who isn't immediately around them to notice, too loud for Ashton and Calum to hear the crash of the barstool. Rent-a-cop Dick isn't even paying attention because all of a sudden, all six feet and skin and bones of Michael is being lifted by his collar to face a well-angered muscle man. "Fuck," he spits, tasting blood on his lips as he attempts to scramble for his phone. 

"The fuck you say to my girl?" the man growls, holding Michael closer. "Talking to her all night? I had my fuckin' eye on you, Aussie. Didn't think anythin' of it." His breath reeks of onion, Michael notes, and there's a haze washing over him that he thinks could be from the rushed blood to his head and the alcohol finally taking it's toll. 

He attempts to swing a kick or at least push himself away from the guy but it's no use and he's rendered helpless. "I didn't," he coughs, "I didn't mean shit by it I promise. I- I had no idea." Ellie is standing beside the muscle man now and Michael's sort of pissed, can't believe he got roped into this bullshit.

He doesn't want his head to lop down like a rag doll but he can't turn his neck to search for Ash and Cal in fear of it being snapped off the side of his head. Sure enough, the guy lands another punch but this time to his stomach, dropping Michael to double over in agony. "Don't speak that shit to a woman, ya little cunt. Next time ya won't be so lucky." 

He definitely doesn't remember blacking out but can imagine it being from the amount of pain and mixed stomach contents, but he comes to in the club bathroom with Ashton kneeling over him and Calum pressing a wet cloth to his cheek. "Cannot believe you got the piss beat out of you, man. Luke is gonna be so upset he missed this." There's a teasing tone to Ashton's voice, and Michael manages a weak smile. "Still, you're kinda stupid. Gotta be more careful, kay?" He nods, grins when they lace his arms around their shoulders and drag him out of the horribly lit bathroom.

Calum is somewhat lit like a torch, laughs too loud in Michael's ear, "you're going to get in so much trouble Mikey," and Michael knows that and Calum and Ashton know that and the rent-a-cop knows that and everyone on the goddamn planet knows that. 

"But it was worth it. Battle scars."


End file.
